partner in crime

I wait cross-legged
on a barrel of tacks.
the smoke of cells
dying and regenerating
mists my skin.

I imagine
spangles of blood
spewing into the air and
haunting sounds
of bone snapping
under a blanket.

there is no pain that
the brain can’t fantasize.
be it heartbreak or
hemorrhaging.

anything is possible when
you are waiting
in a perfectly white room
with perfectly sealed windows
and perfectly slim nurses.

then a whisper from
the heat vent, and life
awakens with
a touch on the shoulder.

life,
the ultimate accomplice
in the garden of rotten fruit.

Andrew Plevak lives in Denver, Colorado, with his poodle, Petunia. He studied creative writing at the University of Denver and is a proud MFA dropout. Andrew has been previously published in The DuBois Review and The Skinny Poetry Journal. In real life, Andrew is studying to be a speech therapist. However, poetry has and always will be his passion.

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